


Yellow Light

by Honeybee_Apocalypse



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Gerry, He's ace because I say so, It's not explicit in the work but, M/M, and I- an ace person- want to confirm the fact that it's not the case, and also my friend says some of the things he said might have sexual connotations, it/it's pronouns for Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeybee_Apocalypse/pseuds/Honeybee_Apocalypse
Summary: In which there is a confession, and there is hope.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Yellow Light

For all of Gerry's recklessness, the confession was done with care.

Michael arrived at his doorstep on a Tuesday evening, draping a scarf around Gerry's neck, tying it delicately. Gerry felt his heart stop as Michael's fingers graced his throat, but if it was noticed, there was no comment. The wool was rough against his chin, but did good work of keeping the cold at bay.

"Did you make this?" Gerry took the end of the scarf between two fingers and held it up, studying the twisting patterns and impossible colors. His eyes couldn't focus, and eventually, he let it drop to his chest.

"Bold of you assume that things cannot simply exist, Bookburner. I know the Beholding has its claws in you, makes you want to know everything, but there simply isn't an answer for this one," Michael smiled, twirling a strand of yarn around its fingers.

"You're impossible," Gerry groaned, taking its arm.

"That's the point, little flame. Where exactly are you taking me?"

"On a walk, Michael."

Michael shivered at the sound of its name, but didn't reprimand Gerry for saying it. It sounded good, when he said it, like he saw more in Michael than Michael ever saw in itself.

It was Autumn, late November, and the trees had long since gone gold. There was a chill in the air that not even Michael's presence could chase away, and Gerry's face soon flushed red. Maybe that was anticipation as well, he couldn't be sure. Maybe that was just Michael's closeness, hands on his waist, careful not to hurt him.

And, finally, they settled under a willow tree at the edge of a lake, breath curling in the air. Gerry stole glances of the fractals Michael drew in the air, like ice, fragile and delicate.

"Michael," He cleared his throat. "I have to tell you something."

"Hm?" Michael turned to face him. "Do you now?"  
"Yes, listen, it's... important," Gerry sighed. "I... don't expect you to- understand? Or to... feel the same. " He prefaced, picking over his words slowly.

"You're not making much sense," Michael observed. "Is everything alright? Are you hurt?"

"Michael, brilliant unknowable Michael, you're so bloody slow sometimes," Gerry shook his head, but laughed, laced heavy with affection. "I'm in love with you, silly."

"Oh."

Michael didn't speak for a while. Gerry's mind raced- I knew it. He knew this would make everything awkward, he knew it was a weird thing to say, he knew he'd reject him like this, I shouldn't have said anything, oh-

And then Michael looked back at him. "Gerry, I am... sorry. If I was as I once was, I am certain that I would know how to love you. But I do not. I do not... know how to love, anymore. I... am too, feeling... the same, I think, but I don't know... how. To be. To love."

Gerry nodded, and reached out, took its hands. Long fingers, sharp, curling around his. 

"Let me show you?" Gerry breathed.

And he felt Michael move closer, impossibly, until their noses brushed and Gerry leaned back, trusting the solidity of Michael's hand on his coat.

"Can I kiss you?" Michael asked, light and airy, gold in inflection.

"Please."

Michael's hands were lost in his hair, against his skin, and Gerry clutched his scarf and laughed into Michael's mouth. Michael, who made his skin buzz and made his mind reel, Michael- who was kissing him, finally, carefully. Michael, who traced his jaw and the curve of his neck, and Gerry shuddered because it was all he had ever wanted.

They pulled away with a breath, and dissolved into laugher and half-sentences, and it was not elegant and it was not perfect but it was love, safe and genuine, and they would never need anything more.  
"Michael?"

They were back at the apartment, curled up on the sofa, a mockery of romance that rang so true it could have been authentic. Could have been, but was not. (Yet.)

"Gerry..." Michael hummed pleasantly into the crook of his neck.

"I meant it. I will... show you. Love, that is, if you'll have me."

"Always, Gerry, dear. I will always have you."

"Then it's settled," He sunk further into Michael's embrace.

And Michael may have been a creature of lies, delusion, falsities, but that- I will always have you, was a promise of safety, of forever, of morning kisses and lazy afternoons and melodramatic expressions of adoration. It was the only true thing among Michael's chaos anymore, perhaps. Love. Love it did not know, yet, how to shape, but it would soon be shown. And it would be remarkable.


End file.
